


it's a gift horse, sweet pea.

by flosculatory



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/pseuds/flosculatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you can't help but talk to the suspicious-looking man beneath a lamppost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a gift horse, sweet pea.

**Author's Note:**

> for Rarepair Winter.
> 
> my approach to writing is fake it 'til you make it. and this kept shifting as I was writing it so I'm not fully certain it comes together coherently, but what can you do, really?
> 
> as everything is when I write about Nash, this is a love letter to [Deja Fucking Deja Vu](http://tornadobelt.livejournal.com/3321.html) by weatherfront.

Like any girl her age, Ariadne had learned the unwritten rules of walking home alone at night. The first rule being, avoid walking home alone at night. Unfortunately, with the team coming and going at odd hours, everyone with their own schedule, it was bound to happen. This led to the next set of rules. Stay on busy, well-lit streets. Be aware of your surroundings: no earphones. Don’t make eye contact with strange men, and _definitely_ don’t stop to talk to them. 

Yeah, Ariadne was familiar with the rules. She was an expert at the rules. She’d perfected her own _I’ve got somewhere to be, nothing to see here_ walk, and it had been reasonably successful at keeping her alive. So normally, she would never give the time of day (or night, as it were) to a shady man leaning against a lamppost. A shady man with limp hair and an oily smile, clutching his side like it was tender, clutching with— _Jesus Christ, is he missing fingers?_

She sped up her gait and moved to allow for the widest possible berth past the lamp. 

“So, you’re their new architect are you?” called the man. “Shitty luck.”

This was enough to give her pause, but she quickly resumed walking, ready to leave this man behind her.

As she was passing by the lamp, however, the man lunged to grab her wrist. But he was slow with pain, and Ariadne jerked back in time to avoid his touch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said firmly, then tried to continue on her way.

The man chuckled lowly, but made a pained groan and made no move to chase after her. “But don’t you see, darlin’? I was their _old_ architect!”

 _Their old architect? Nash?_ Ariadne tried to remember all that she’d heard about her predecessor, but then shook her head. _I can survive this_ , Ariadne thought. _Just treat him like any other drunk and raving man, just_ —

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to warn you! You think good old Arthur is going to keep you safe? What do you think happened to my fucking hand?” The man— _Nash_ ’s voice was strangled and his breathing was ragged, worn out from the effort of shouting after her.

Ariadne stopped in her tracks despite every instinct in her screaming to the contrary. She could see the headline in her head: _Meurtre d’une jeune étudiante américaine_. But her curiosity got the better of her, and she waited for Nash to catch up.

“I knew you were a smart one, and pretty too.” Nash was once again in front of her, slightly hunched, breathing shallowly. “Hey, has Arthur been checking you out? You seem like you’d be his type… Unless he actually _does_ swing the other way, what the fuck would I know—”

Ariadne cut in, because she wasn’t putting herself in danger of being murdered so that she could discuss her coworker’s sexual preferences. “Aren’t you supposed to be warning me about something?”

Undeterred, Nash continues, “Sometimes I imagined that he was making eyes at me, right, but god, what a fucking disaster that would be, huh? I mean, the sex would probably be fantastic, he’s always been a tight-ass and—”

Ariadne pulled out her phone and waved it in Nash’s face, yelling, “Hey! If you don’t get to your point _really_ freaking soon, I’m going to call Arthur up and we can see how _he_ feels about your obsession with his ass.”

Nash made a half-hearted grab for the phone and then put his hands up in surrender. “Jesus fuck, all right, all right. Cobb is a self-serving _psychopath_. Don’t trust those good-for-nothing cunts and get out while you still can. There, warning over, I will take my medal of honor now, thank you.”

Ariadne just stared back blankly. “What? Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“Oh god, maybe I had the smart part wrong after all,” Nash muttered. He sighed and held out his (fully-fingered) hand to shake, carefully enunciating, “I’m Nash. Their architect before you. I know things that you don’t.”

Ariadne scowled. Nash put his hand back in his pocket.

“Look, you probably think they’re hot shit now, but just you wait until Cobb and his little lap-dog throw you to the wolves.”

“I heard that _you_ sold _them_ out.”

“Oh, so they _have_ mentioned me! I’m touched.” 

“And that that was after you screwed up the dream level,” Ariadne continued.

It was Nash’s turn to scowl. From the looks of it, the movement made his cuts sting. “Listen, sweetheart, _any_ architect could have made that mistake.” 

Ariadne scoffed.

“You think you’re better than me because you go to some fancy-ass French school? Anyone can hold a fucking ruler, sweet pea.”

He kept calling her these stupid pet names and Ariadne bristled at the general aura of misogynistic bullshit. “You look, _sweet pea_ , I might be new to this, but I am fucking _great_ at it. Arthur said that Cobb said that he’d never seen anyone pick it up so quickly, and—”

“‘ _Arthur said that Cobb said_ ’, what is this, fucking middle school gossip?” Nash sneered. “Besides, it doesn’t matter if you _pick it up_ quickly, that’s not going to prepare you for Saito humping some goddamn carpet, only to find that it’s not wool, it’s poly-fucking-ester. Because apparently, he needs high-class carpet to get his rocks off in his secret grimy-ass sex apartment while the rest of us have to deal with our own bone-dry hands on cheap motel beds, where’s the justice in that?”

Nash looked down at her like he expected an answer, but Ariadne backtracked. “Wait,” she said, “you said his sex apartment, Saito’s sex apartment.”

“Well, you don’t get to make shiny office buildings forever.”

“No, but— You built a real place, a place that exists?”

Nash’s eyes started to sparkle, like he knew what was coming next. “Yessiree.”

“Was it your idea?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’s bursting with ideas? Captain’s orders.”

Ariadne’s brow furrowed. “Cobb? But Cobb said never to recreate real places, that we only made generic towns and buildings, that we should only use bits and pieces from the real world.” Ariadne’s tone was impatient. Nash smiled.

“Look who’s finally getting it! See, now you know how much time Cobb spends doing things he says never to do. Or making others do it, in my case.”

“Well there must have been a strategy behind it, Cobb wouldn’t— _Arthur_ wouldn’t have let it go on without one.”

Nash sighed. “There’s always a fucking strategy. The problem is that sometimes? The strategy is to blame everything on the nice architect so they can get away with their pale asses intact.”

Nash’s phone chimed in his pocket and he pulled it out to check it. He cursed under his breath and looked back at her, eyes abruptly tired. “Look, I’ve said my piece, I’ve done my good deed for this lifetime. Get away as fast as you can. Stay with those crazy fuckers long enough and you’ll end up like your old pal, eight-fingered Nash.”

He waved all of his fingers at her and she shuddered, looking at the half-healed stumps. As he started to walk away, she grabbed his arm. “Wait, where are you going? We’re not done, you must have more to tell me about Cobb and Arthur, you can’t possibly be done!” She wasn’t sure why she was so frantic, why she wasn’t relieved that this vaguely dangerous interaction was coming to an end.

Nash shook off her arm. “Look, I’ve got nothing left for you. Trust me if you want, or go back to them, but figure your own shit out.”

Nash talked a good game, but Ariadne could see the fear in his eyes as he fidgeted on the spot.

“At least tell me why you bothered warning me at all? You’ve obviously put yourself in some danger by being here, and you don’t exactly seem like the type to help a girl out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Yo, fuck you, man,” Nash whined. “Can’t a gentleman come along to save a damsel in distress anymore?”

Ariadne didn’t grace that statement with a reply other than a raised eyebrow at the thought of Nash as a gentleman.

“Maybe I was hoping you would be so thankful you’d offer me a blowjob for my troubles,” Nash leered, momentarily forgetting about his haste to leave. Ariadne rolled her eyes. _Men_.

“Nash, I swear to god, I am going to kick you right in the—”

“Okay, okay! I was sent by… a concerned party.”

“What? Who?”

Nash shook his head. “Look, you’ve got a friend who cares enough about you to keep you alive. So do them a favor and skedaddle. Ditch this popsicle stand. And don’t look the gift horse in the ass.”

Trying to puzzle out who could have paid Nash off, Ariadne absentmindedly corrected, “you’re not supposed to look a gift horse in the _mouth_.”

“Well, not checking the mouth is what fucked up the Trojans, right?”

Ariadne’s eyes snapped back up to Nash’s, surprised.

“What?” Nash asked, indignant. “I read!”

Ariadne chuckled. Hesitantly, Nash added, “Does my knowledge of Greek history make a blowjob more likely or no?”

Ariadne’s eyes narrowed again and he took a step backwards while also taking back his question. “Yeah, I get it, you’re a nice girl and there’s a protocol to follow. Like Arthur, Arthur would probably start by asking for a girl’s number.” Nash paused, then just barrelled on, “But who’s got the fucking time? We both know I probably wouldn’t live long enough to use it.”

He leaned in close and added, in a low tone, “but just between you and me? My dick’s _definitely_ bigger than Arthur’s.”

She let out a snort, one that was too loud for the night and too lighthearted for the conversation they just had. Nash smirked and started to walk away again, giving a casual wave from over his shoulder.

“Stay alive, Nash,” Ariadne called.

“Right back at you, Ariadne.”

 

 

 

(Nash walked away calmly, only speeding up when he turned a corner and was out of Ariadne’s sight. He kept going until he was pulled, rather unceremoniously, into a dark alleyway.

“Took you long enough,” Arthur groused.

“Fuck, hello to you, too, Arthur, and _you’re welcome_ for warning off your little girlfriend.” Nash paused and narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two?”

“Fuck you, Nash.”

“I’m just saying, she seems like she’d be your type. If, you know, I’m an anomaly and you actually like mousy girls who ask a lot of questions.”

Arthur sighed, ignoring him. “Let’s get you out of the country before they hang you up and slit you open to let your insides spill out.”

“You say the sweetest things, babe.”

Arthur smacked the back of Nash’s head.

“And for the record?” Arthur added, "your dick is definitely _not_ bigger than mine.”)

 

 

 

((When Ariadne walked into the warehouse the next morning, Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction before shutting in disappointment. _Damn._ ))

**Author's Note:**

> Take or leave the endings as you will: there's just so much story I wanted to tell and I couldn't stop myself.


End file.
